


Coffee and Cherries

by FutureAlien



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Rated teen for swearing, Scruffy Pendragon Fest (Merlin), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, although not officially; more like talk of marriage, like really you won't need sugar for the rest of the week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureAlien/pseuds/FutureAlien
Summary: Arthur knows for a fact, in that tiny kitchen at a quarter to three, after who knows how many cups of coffee, that he will never love another human so much as this.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 401
Collections: Scruffy Pendragon Fest





	Coffee and Cherries

**Author's Note:**

> I am posting this literally 2 minutes before the deadlne of the scruffy pendragon fest. I will edit later but I have stress now, ily!!  
> Based on the song 'Cigarettes and Coffee' by Otis Redding
> 
> EDIT: As mentioned before, I was in a bit of a hurry to finish writing this, because I have been wanting to write something for this wonderful fest since I first heard of it, but I simply didn't have the time before. I want to thank the beautiful people who are hosting this for this great idea, I really liked writing this (and it did force me to write, albeit very late, because boy do I work under pressure). I have some other ideas for stories that I once upon a dream wanted to write for this, but I think I'll just post them when I have time. 
> 
> I somehow always end up writing these super fluffy fics, so I hope you're into that :) Enjoy!

The sound of careful footsteps echoes through the silent apartment, and when Arthur rolls around, he finds that the other side of the bed is empty. Dragging a lazy hand over the warm mattress, Arthur cracks one eye open. A line of soft yellow light shines from underneath the door, and Arthur cannot help but smile as he hears Merlin rustle around in the kitchen. 

A quick glance to the clock reveals that it’s two in the morning, and he lets out a little groan at the thought that he will have to be up again by seven. 

Right as he’s about to turn around again and let sleep reclaim him, a loud _clang!_ jolts him awake. 

“Fuck!” Merlin shouts, followed by a softer, sheepish, “Sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Arthur mumbles, his voice still hoarse with sleep. “I was already awake anyways.”

He can hear Merlin paddle excitedly towards him, his bare feet making a soft smacking noise on the wooden floorboards, and then the bedroom door is pushed wide open, a wave of bright light infiltrating the pleasant dark.

“Nooooo,” Arthur moans pathetically, scurrying back underneath his blanket to shield his eyes from the blasted light. He can hear Merlin mutter as he quickly closes the door, whispering apologies as he moves towards the bed. The springs creak when Merlin sits down on the mattress, and once again when he lets himself fall forward onto his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the little cocoon that Arthur had made for himself. 

Merlin’s added body warmth makes that it’s far too hot to stay underneath the blankets much longer, and so Arthur sticks out his head, immediately regretting it when he sees the delight gleaming in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Look at you,” Merlin whispers gleefully, as he moves one hand to ruffle through Arthur’s hair, which is undoubtedly sticking to all sides. Arthur tries to swat him away, but Merlin, being far too awake for this ungodly hour and therefore able to trick him, has placed his knees on either side of Arthur’s body, making certain his hands are trapped between the sheets rolled around him. Moving his head to escape Merlin’s excited hand also proves useless, so after a while he just lies back and lets Merlin coo over his sleep-rumpled face.

“Maybe,” Arthur says, because he really cannot have Merlin think he _enjoys_ this kind of treatment, “I wouldn’t look like a crumpled paper bag if my boyfriend just slept through the night like a normal person.”

It’s a bit mean, because he knows that Merlin’s insomnia bothers him much more than it bothers Arthur. In the greyish darkness hanging around the room, he can discern Merlin’s pout, and in a rather impressive feat of abdominal strength, Arthur manages to raise himself to a sitting position, toppling Merlin onto his back in the movement. 

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Merlin whines, but he cannot suppress a giggle when Arthur bends over to kiss him squarely on the mouth. They kiss for a moment before Merlin pulls away, scrunching his nose exaggeratedly. 

“I think a little bird flew into your mouth and died in there, love,” he says, patting Arthur lovingly on his head. “Go back to sleep, you can kiss me in the morning.” 

He untangles himself from the heap of limbs they always seem to become and stumbles out of bed. He bows down over Arthur and presses a soft kiss on his forehead. Then he’s gone, leaving Arthur to blink furiously at the light pouring through the door. 

Arthur considers closing the door and going back to bed, but now that Merlin’s mentioned it, he does really have an unpleasant taste in his mouth. And he’s awake anyways, he might just as well go ahead and brush his teeth to get rid of it (and so he can kiss Merlin. He really wants to kiss Merlin).

So he gets up. It’s a bit of a process, what with his bed being so warm and the mean dark world out there being so cold. In the end, he decides that fast is probably the best way to do it. In a few seconds, he’s thrown away his wonderfully warm blanket, launched himself out of bed and ran slash staggered to his wardrobe to pull out a sweater. He grabs the first one he can find, which is the soft red one that Hunith knitted him for Christmas, and once he puts it on a shiver of delight runs through him. He rummages through Merlin’s sock drawer, because he knows his boyfriend has those ugly fluffy socks stashed away somewhere. Arthur usually makes fun of them (Merlin has several pairs, and all of them are in colours that seem to have the word ‘baby’ in front of them), but right now he understands what Merlin likes about them. He almost squeals when he finds them, and slips them onto his frozen feet before his mind wakes up enough to protest. 

Once he’s waddled into the corridor - there is no way one can stride or even stroll in these socks - he finds out the socks in questions don’t even form a pair. One is baby girl pink, the other is the colour he imagines baby frogs to be. However his head still feels like there’s a heavy mist hanging in it and his feet are delightfully toasty, so he just ignores the crime against fashion that he’s committing and goes to the bathroom.

By the time he emerges and enters the kitchen, it looks like Merlin has already forgotten Arthur was ever awake. He his standing at the kitchen counter, pouring over his cooking book, a mountain of shiny cherries piled up on a plate. He’s so concentrated that he doesn’t even hear Arthur come in, frowning and doing that little pout that he always gets when he’s reading. When Arthur comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his boyfriend, Merlin startles so badly that he actually _jumps_. A spatula goes flying and lands in the sink with a smack as Merlin clutches his chest, sending Arthur an offended look when he laughs. 

“I didn’t know you were still awake,” he blurts, eyes still wide from the shock. 

Arthur doesn’t reply, just pulls Merlin closer and nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck. They’re pressed close enough together for Arthur to feel the giggle make its way through Merlin’s body as the other squirms away. Arthur just holds on tighter.

“You’re scratchy,” Merlin whines, though he does give up the struggle. 

“I thought you liked the stubble thing,” Arthur mumbles. Merlin’s skin is soft and warm underneath his lips, and the smell of him makes his heart seize. After all the places Arthur’s lived at, it is Merlin that smells most like home. 

“I do like it,” Merlin says. Arthur had closed his eyes, and it takes his befuddled brain a second to remind him what they were talking about. If only he were really small, he could live forever in the crook of Merlin’s neck. He could build a little house on his collarbone and travel up each day. That would be a good life.

“Arthur? Are you falling asleep?”

Merlin wiggles a bit in his hold. “Why don’t you just go back to bed, babe? I really have to finish this pie, but I’ll come back soon,” he promises.

Arthur just shakes his head. He doesn’t want to let go just yet. He knows that Merlin hates that he can’t sleep through the night, and that the baking thing helps, but sometimes Arthur misses him. He doesn’t want to return to their empty bed just yet.

“I brushed my teeth,” he says against Merlin’s skin, pressing kisses up the long column of his neck, planting one behind his lovely oversized ear. He can feel Merlin smile. He opens his eyes and turns his head, trying to see it, too. Merlin just looks at him and chuckles. 

“I can kiss you now,” Arthur explains, in case Merlin didn’t understand. Merlin’s smile makes his eyes crescent, and then he turns around in Arthur’s arms and kisses him. 

It’s a slow kiss, languid and sweet, but it still speeds up Arthur’s heart like it’s the first time. Their actual first kiss felt like ages ago - it had been almost four years now - but he can remember it like yesterday. It had been Merlin who kissed him, then too, after years of friendship and pining. Merlin has always been brave like that. 

Arthur can feel himself melting into the kiss. Merlin’s hands are in his hair, carding tenderly through the messy strands. Arthur’s arms haven’t moved, still enveloping Merlin, but he has settled his hands on Merlin’s hips, pushing him softly against the counter. He can feel Merlin breathing out against his cheek. 

  
  
  


“Go, before you fall asleep here,” Merlin says when they break apart. He looks a little bleary-eyed himself, though decisively not unhappy.

“Actually… can I stay here?” Arthur asks. It might be silly, but it feels like an infringement of Merlin's privacy to be here, at a time when he is usually alone, but Arthur doesn't want to leave.

Merlin arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I really do have to finish this pie, I don’t want to throw everything away.” 

“It’s okay,” Arthur says, slowly letting go of his boyfriend. “I can just go sit there and wait. I don’t mind watching you.” He finds that he means it only after he’s said it. He wants to look at this Merlin, the Merlin who bakes at two in the morning because he can’t sleep. It’s a side he’s never been around to see before.

Merlin just smiles and shakes his head, as if he doesn’t believe for a second that Arthur will manage to stay awake. “If you say so,” he says, pressing a last kiss on Arthur’s cheek before he pushes him away, towards the kitchen table. 

Arthur settles into one of the wooden chairs and watches as Merlin slices the cherries and removes the stones. When he is done, his hands are covered in red juice. He puts a pot on the stove and takes the dough from the fridge, starts working it as the smell of warm cherries slowly wafts towards Arthur. He watches Merlin’s arms as they roll out the dough, back and forth and back again. Arthur’s eyelids are heavy. The cherries are sweet as dreams. He rests his face in the palm of his hand and looks at Merlin’s hands. The long fingers pressing the dough back together where it has torn apart, pulling Arthur back together every time he falls apart, stroking his cheeks, carding through his hair, lips red as cherries and just as sweet, making him whole and tearing him open with kisses in the colour of morning.

He’s drifting, eyes falling close, floating through clouds without stems or stones when he trips over the tip of a dream and startles awake. He must have dozed off for only a moment, because Merlin doesn’t seem to have noticed, humming away as he stirs the pan of cherries. He’s humming, a tune that drifts in and out of hearing as he butters a tin. There’s a smile on his face that feels like a treasure, and Arthur locks it away in his chest. 

Before he can let himself be carried away again, Arthur stands up. The legs of his chair scrape loudly against the wooden floorboards, echoing through their little apartment. Arthur winces at the sound, mentally apologising to his neighbours. 

“Are you going to bed?” Merlin asks. Somehow, he manages to sound both hopeful and disappointed at the prospect. Arthur doesn’t bother to answer him. Instead, he makes his way over to the tiny living room. It used to be odd, living together in a house that is smaller than Arthur’s bedroom used to be, but he has grown fond of the way everything fits together, the cozy crowdedness of the place, the little clutter that can’t be avoided when living with Merlin. 

He knows what he is doing, though he wouldn’t be able to explain it to someone else. Arthur had never liked the old record player that Merlin had been so infatuated with ever since he found it in some shabby second-hand shop. The sounds that emerge from the tinny speakers are always off-tune and flat to Arthur’s ears, and the records Merlin has bought are all terribly stuffy and old. But as he unplugs the device and carefully cradles it in his arms (Merlin would _kill_ him if he dropped it, even his sleep-deprived mind knows that), he decides that a night like this might call for the rustling of an old LP, for a high, wavering voice in a language that neither of them really understand. So he rifles through Merlin’s collection until he finds what he’s looking for and takes it all back to the kitchen with him. 

Merlin is carefully placing the dough in the rusty tin that had once belonged to Hunith, before Arthur had bought her a new one for Christmas. When he glances at Arthur, who is carefully balancing the load in his arms, he actually frowns. His eyes follow Arthur as he sets up the record player, and the suspicion in his eyes makes Arthur smile. 

When the _chanson_ ’s first notes filter through the air, Merlin gives in. 

“I thought you hated this music." The confusion in his voice borders on scepticism.

Arthur merely hums noncommittally and starts swaying along. Merlin raises an eyebrow, a terrifying trait that runs in his family (it’s usually his uncle Gaius that does it, but Arthur once saw Hunith look at him like that and he’s never quite recovered). 

“Last time I played this song, you called it ‘horrible French crying’ and wouldn’t stop whining until I shut it off,” Merlin goes on. 

Arthur just smiles and shrugs. He takes a step closer to Merlin, until they are nose to nose. 

Arthur holds out his hand. “Can I have this dance?”he asks. He even bows a little. When he looks back up, Merlin is looking at him as if he is some sort of enigma he cannot decipher, but he does take his hand.

Arthur steps backwards then, leading them to the few square feet of free space their kitchen has to offer. He pulls Merlin close, and revels in the warmth of him as they’re pressed flush together. Slowly, they sway together as song after song drifts through the night. Merlin breaks away for a moment to lower the heat on the stove, and then he’s right back in Arthur’s arms. He shoots Arthur a look with so much love, so much fondness in it, that his knees almost buckle under the strength of it. 

They dance until the record runs out, staying close long after even the soundless rustling has stopped. When Merlin finally lets go of him, Arthur thinks there might be tears in his eyes. 

“I like this Arthur,” Merlin says, turning his back to him to stir the cherries again, or maybe to hide how touched he is. Arthur promises himself to never say anything about his music again, to dance with him more often, even if it’s at half past two in the morning. 

“I like you, too,” he replies, laying much more gravity in his tone then maybe befitting for the conversation. It’s his way of saying the things he leaves unsaid.

Merlin turns back to him. He cocks his head to the side, taking him in. Arthur can see he is about to say something lighter, to dissuade the heaviness of the feelings between them. 

“I should wake you up more often,” he quips, predictably, but his eyes are still searching his face, as if he’s seeing something he’d never noticed before. “I almost feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he goes on. It’s another joke, but he means it, Arthur knows. “Like you’re going to regret being this sweet and girly once you’re fully awake.”

“I’m sure I will,” Arthur says, which might be true, because he has a terrible habit of chastising himself whenever a piece of his soul has been laid bare. “Does it matter, though? I don’t regret it now.”

Merlin shrugs. It’s rare to see him so lost for words, though Arthur remembers it from the other times they’d been truly open with each other. Merlin uses his words the same way Arthur uses silence: to prevent himself from showing too much. He’s showing Arthur, now. 

“I still think you’re a clotpole, though,” Arthur adds, because it’s his turn to save Merlin from feeling too exposed. The laugh Merlin barks out is loud with relief, though he too must be sad to see the moment go. 

“That’s my word,” he responds, because that’s how it goes, this game of theirs, this communication of evasion. Merlin turns his attention back to his pie. 

Staring at his boyfriend’s back, Arthur realises he doesn’t want it to end. The moment, the night, the vulnerabilities. He knows Merlin, knows him to his core, just like Merlin knows him. But there are still things left unsaid, even after all these years, and it scares him sometimes. That there is so much he doesn’t grasp yet, never will. How unreachable they both are. 

He decides right then that he’s not going to sleep tonight. He is going to sit with Merlin until Merlin wants to sleep, because he has missed this. There is an intimacy to the late hour, the unfamiliarity of the moment, that is different from their kisses or the butterflies that still seem to inhabit his stomach after all these years. It’s a thrilling simplicity that Arthur is unwilling to let go of just yet. 

Merlin is putting the pie together as Arthur adds beans to the coffee machine and listens to it brew.

“Now you’re never going to be able to go back to sleep,” Merlin comments without looking up.

“I don’t mind,” Arthur replies, taking his cup and stirring the sugar through it. “I want to stay awake until you’re ready.”

“Alright,” Merlin says, then again: “alright.” He carefully places the pie in the oven, washes his hands in the sink, scrubbing away at the dried juice with the hard chamomile soap.

He sits himself at the kitchen table, and Arthur settles opposite him. Merlin reaches for his cup of coffee and takes a sip. Arthur raises his eyebrows, but Merlin just smiles. 

Placing the cup back on the table, he bends forward, carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair. Arthur can’t help but close his eyes. The coffee is taking effect already, clearing his mind and speeding up his heartbeat, but Merlin’s touch makes him go lax all the same. 

“It’s growing long,” Merlin muses, toying with the strands in his neck, where they have begun to curl upwards. 

“I’ll make an appointment with the barber tomorrow, it’s been too long since I went.” 

“You don’t have to,” Merlin says quickly. “I like it like this.” He continues his ministrations, making soft tingles run down Arthur’s spine. 

“M’ dad always liked it short,” Arthur mumbles, because it’s the only thing he can come up with, distracted as he is by Merlin. He wouldn’t mind keeping it long. He doesn’t work for his father anymore, and it’s not that important to him. 

“I know,” Merlin says, and then, “I’m proud of you.” 

He doesn’t say anything more, but Arthur knows what he means. It hadn’t been easy to choose his own path, away from the one his father had planned out for him. Merlin had always been there for him though, so he knows what it’s taken. Merlin has told him already that he is proud of him, many times before. Arthur is beyond grateful he’d say it again. 

“I love this house,” Arthur says, because he’s scared that he’ll choke up if he says anything else. Merlin’s hand leaves his hair and moves to his face, thumb stroking his stubbled cheek. When they had first come here, the apartment had been a mess. It’s still not perfect - the walls are thin and the boiler has the habit of giving out five minutes into a shower, but it’s theirs. It’s the home he has built with Merlin. 

It’s so early in the morning, Arthur thinks. They sit and talk, about their lives together, past present future, about their jobs and Merlin’s evening classes and the cakes he will bake next time he can’t sleep. Arthur learns the name of the record they just danced to, and they flip it to play the other side, listening to the sweet melodies as they hand their third cup of coffee back and forth between them. 

When the cooking alarm goes, they’re both surprised that an hour has passed already.

Merlin stretches and climbs out of his chair, stumbles a moment with his tired limbs. Delicious smells come from the oven when he takes out the pie, a big grin stretched over his face as he shows Arthur the golden brown colour. 

“If we wait ten more minutes,” he says with a cheeky glance towards Arthur, “we can have a little taste.”

“I’m awake now anyways,” Arthur smiles back. 

  
  
  
  


And so Merlin settles in his chair again and they continue talking. As the kitchen fills with the smell of warm cherry pie, Merlin speaks excitedly about that one time they visited the zoo while Arthur was drugged up on anaesthetics from a surgery. It’s a story Arthur has heard a hundred times already, and it is a very big blow to his ego each time, but he still loves it for the way it lights up Merlin’s face with glee. 

  
  


And he realises that he wants to hear this story another hundred times. He wants to hear it again and again until he knows exactly which word will follow the next, until the very first word already makes him groan. He wants to wake up to the smell of Merlin’s pies every day, and he wants to hold Merlin in his arms every night, and he wants them to one day finally get out of this honeymoon phase and notice each other’s flaws, to have fights that they will make up after days of stubborn silence. He wants to make so many new memories with Merlin and forget half of them because they were splendid but to them, they were just normal. 

  
  


He must have been silent for too long because Merlin’s looking at him a bit worried, and Arthur knows for a fact, in that tiny kitchen at a quarter to three, after who knows how many cups of coffee, that he will never love another human so much as this. It feels much too much for a man like him.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he blurts out, and then he blushes because he can’t believe he actually said that. Merlin stares at him for a moment, and then the biggest smile takes over his face. His eyes are glistening a little. Arthur finds he doesn’t quite know where to look, so he studies the wood of the table, with all its marks of their lives together. 

There is the scorch mark from when Merlin dropped a pan on the table before they figured out the use of coasters. There is a undefinable stain they never managed to get off. There are the nail marks Arthur left when they fucked their way through the whole apartment in their first week here.

“I would like that very much,” he can hear Merlin reply, and he nods, eyes fastened on the wood that relays their lives with its own, their own little marks spreading across the rings of he wood. He doesn’t dare to look at Merlin now, doesn't trust himself to keep it dry. 

They sit in silence for a bit, and then Merlin huffs out a soft laugh. “So was this actually… did you just technically say you want to marry me?”

Arthur blushes even fiercer then. “No!” he says quickly, and then, realising how that sounds he corrects himself: “Yes! I mean, I do want to marry you. Very much, actually.” 

He fiddles with his spoon. There is some sugar caked to the bottom of their coffee cup. 

“But this was not an official question or anything,” he says quickly. 

“That’ll come one day when you don’t expect it, and it’ ll be horrible and over the top and in a room full of people so you can’t say no as a joke.”

Feeling in safer territory now that he’s joking again, Arthur looks at Merlin. At his stupid ruffled hair, at the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, at the rumpled blue pyjama with little bears on it. He has never seen anyone so beautiful. 

Merlin’s face is about to split with the force of his smile, and Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen him smile this bright, not even when they finally kissed in his dorm room after years of dancing around each other. There are a lot of things they did tonight that he wants to repeat, that he’d like to have every night of his life, no matter how much he values his sleep.

But he thinks he’d could be happy if he never saw this smile again, if that was something that would only happen once in his life, if it was the thing that he could remember with all this love for the rest of his life to come. 

“I just wanted to know, I guess,” he says and he knows that his smile matches Merlin’s. “I wanted you to know. I’d marry you right here if you’d let me.”

“We don’t have a minister here,” Merlin says, but Arthur knows that he means _I would too_. “Besides my mom would kill me if I got married without her there.”

“We can’t have that,” Arthur agrees. 

They don’t say anything else for a long time. Somehow, in their jokes they had already said wedding vows, in their glances they had spoken: ‘ _I do’_. One day, Arthur would ask again, and Merlin would say yes, and they’d do the whole thing in front of everyone who would bother to come. But for them, they had promised one to the other at the kitchen table of their little apartment, high on coffee and each other, at three in the morning, with unspoken words and jokes. And Arthur knows he couldn’t ask for a wedding better suited to the two of them.

After a while, minutes or hours or a thousand of years in each other’s eyes, Arthur speaks up again.

“Am I ever going to get that pie?” he teases.

Merlin rolls his eyes, mutters something about a lazy ass, but he does get up.

“Another coffee, for the hell of it? 

“For the hell of it.”

“Milk and sugar?” Merlin asks, more for the form because he knows how Arthur likes his coffee, but Arthur just shakes his head. 

“No need for,” he says. “I have you.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed reading this! Some little information: I imagined the song they danced to to be "Ma plus belle histoire d'amour" by Barbara, which is a song I love to pieces and just the most romantic thing ever, but you can fill in any other song if you'd like :) I'm also thinking of writing a story about the anecdote that Merlin is telling (Arthur drugged up in the zoo), but unfortunately I don't know when I'll have time for that, seeing as I have to finish my thesis first (R.I.P. me)
> 
> I don't know what else to say except that I love you and I love this fandom and this stupid show and all the wonderful people who are keeping it alive, and I really loved writing this too. I hope some of that love came across <3 If you want you can leave a kudos or a comment, it would really make my day to see what you thought of this xx And you should also check out the fics of the other super duper talented writers who wrote for this fest because I've been reading them for weeks now and they are just !!!! so good!!
> 
> okay im going to sleep now I hope this editing doesnt count as missing the deadline :P ily stay safe & sleep tight!!!


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